


Nameday

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Other, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seeker had a nameday. Of course she did, Varric knew that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nameday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vehlr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/gifts).



> A little fluffy fluff for vehlr's birthday!

The Seeker had a nameday.

Of course she did, Varric knew that. Seekers didn’t just hatch out of the ground. And yet something about the realization made her seem more… real. More human. More like a Cassandra than a Seeker. It was unnerving.

The fact he wasn’t really supposed to know made it worse.

Though, he reasoned, it had been an accident. It had been Nightingale, of all people, who had let it slip. Whispering with Ruffles as they passed him by in the great hall. So what if he had excellent hearing.. so what if he had strained just a bit to catch what they were saying. If they didn’t want people to listen, they shouldn’t have been chatting in the great hall with so many nobles and delegates… and obviously nosy dwarves. 

Regardless of the method, he now knew that the Seeker’s nameday was rapidly approaching. She had few to celebrate it with, that much had been clear by Nightingale’s worried brow. That thought struck him. He had heard the tales, of course he had. It was near impossible not to have heard at least one version of her story, the triumph of the Hero of Orlais. Shit, he’d probably told an outrageous version or two in his time.

Even with all the outlandish accounts varying from person to person, region to region, some things were ever the same. The story started with a young girl who had lost her parents, then her brother. It was horrific and unfair, no one deserved that fate. Especially when they were so young.

He needled and teased her, sure, but the lack of friends… of family, was suddenly glaring. And he didn’t quite like it. Was he sympathetic? Toward the Seeker? Preposterous. Yet, he had a sudden, overwhelming desire to get her a gift. Something to let her know she wasn’t alone on her nameday of all days.

Well, he conceded, the world _was_ ending. Why not get a nameday gift for the Seeker? For Cassandra, he silently amended.

* * *

Varric always considered himself rather clever, though he wasn’t feeling it as of late. Finding a proper gift for Cassandra was more difficult than he would have imagined. But she was impossible to shop for. Though he eventually reasoned that had more to do with the fact he didn’t really _know_ her. There were certain facts, but they were of a more… professional line rather than personal. He knew she read his books – Swords  & Shields, he would never be over that one – and little else.

So he set about getting to know Cassandra, not Seeker Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine. Rather the woman underneath all that. All without her catching onto that fact. It was one of the more difficult tasks he’d ever undertaken in his life.

And that included trying to out drink Hawke at the Hanged Man.

He asked around a bit, the requisition officers, the vendors, trying to gauge what she liked. He paid extra attention out in the field, noting if anything in particular caught her fancy when they stopped in a merchant’s shop. Usually she eyed practical things, flint and whet stones, health potions and poultices. Every so often she’d look at a new sword or perhaps a piece of armor. The Inquisitor was always quick to supply her with whatever she needed.

That wasn’t what he was looking for though. He was looking for what she _wanted_. Something that didn’t fall under Inquisition expenses, something frivolous that someone with her innate practicality wouldn’t buy on a whim.

He’d thought of getting her books. But that was one thing she always indulged in, and with the newest chapter of Swords & Shields topping the stack by her bedroll, he didn’t have time to write another one. Unless he wanted it to be absolute shit. Which he didn’t. For some reason.

Slowly he learned things about Cassandra that were surprisingly endearing. She always made a cup of spicy Nevarran tea when she read. Though he couldn’t buy her more of that because she already had a well stocked tin of it. She was fond of most romance novels, not just his. Though he felt odd about buying her more of those. She had a cache of fine soaps from Val Royeaux, perfumed and ridiculous and oddly attractive. The scents, that is. Not the idea of Cassandra using them. Not that.

Actually, she had many small comforts that she often indulged in. None of them were suitable for gifts though. Not when she was perfectly able of obtaining them for herself. But of course she would be, she was a capable woman who had been looking after herself since she was a girl.

Varric kept digging, the time ticking by and still he had no idea what to get her. He thought briefly about asking Leliana, or perhaps Josephine, but that would only lead to questions he didn’t want to answer. So for the time being he was alone in his endeavor.

The Kid was the one who finally gave the information he needed. An offhand comment about blueberry pastries, but the look on her face said it all. Wistful and yearning, but happy. So damn happy he felt his heart lurch at the sight.

The whole thing took some research. Pastries in Nevarra were different than what one would find in Orlais or Ferelden. Getting the recipe and supplies to Skyhold in time required calling in some favors. Things usually reserved for obtaining priceless heirlooms or expensive works of art, not a damned slip of paper written in a cramped hand and some strange spices.

Getting the cook to actually make them was another thing entirely. No amount of sweet-talk or flattery worked. Nor did bribery. In the end he traded favors. He didn’t like owing, only collecting, but this was an emergency and so he did what he could.

It was all worth it though, because the pastries were beautiful and smelled delicious. So much so his mouth watered when he was handed the basket, a pretty cloth draped over them.

With everything set, he left the kitchens to make a delivery.

* * *

He quietly left the basket in the cubbyhole she had the audacity to call a bedroom, and returned to his place by the fire in the great gall. He tried not to think of everything he had done to make this whole thing come about. It was simply what he did, he took care of his friends.

He tried not to think of when Cassandra had become a friend. Or when she had become _Cassandra_ rather than _Seeker_.

It was late in the day when the basket was plopped down on the table in front of him, inkwells clattering together at the suddenness of the motion. He looked and found Cassandra staring down at him, arms crossed and brows lifted.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A basket?”

She groaned. “Inside of it, Varric.”

He leans forward, made a show of peeking under the cloth. “Looks to be pastries, Seeker. Blueberry ones to be specific.”

“Why were they in my room?”

Varric sat back in his chair, tilted his head at her. “They’re a gift.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s your nameday.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she all but dove into the chair next to his, sinking low and looking at him with great suspicion. “How did you know?” she hissed.

“I have my ways.” He grinned at her. “Have I offended you?”

“No. I..” she stopped, huffed out a sigh. “Thank you. It is very kind. They are like the ones I remember as a child.”

“Already sampled one, hm?”

She cast him a dark look even as her cheeks started to turn a becoming shade of pink. “Perhaps. It is my nameday, after all.”

“Good. You were supposed to.” He paused, debated. “And they are. Like the ones you used to have. I, uh, I tracked down a Nevarran recipe.”

She sat up a little straighter at his words, brows lifted and mouth dropping open to form a perfect O. She looked to the basket of pastries again, something akin to awe written across her face. “Thank you, Varric. You.. you did not have to go to the trouble, though.”

“I wanted to.” He shrugged, gave her a quick smile when she looked back at him. “It’s your nameday, Seeker, and I thought you deserved something special.”

“Oh,” she breathed and didn’t speak further. Silence fell over them as she sat there, a little awkward, her cheeks still pink. Finally she stood, a little suddenly as her chair scrapped against the flagstones.

Grabbing the basket, she gently took one of the pastries and placed it on a blank sheaf of paper. “This means more to me than I can say, more than you might even realize. Thank you, Varric.”

Then she did the oddest thing he could imagine. She bent forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The fact his heart stuttered was of no consequence, his mind too focused on the fact she smelled of lavender and mint and those damned blueberry pastries.

She straightened up and left before he could think of anything to say, let alone force himself to form the words. He looked at the pastry sitting innocuously on the table, lifted his fingers to touch the place where she had kissed him. He thought it felt warm.

“Happy nameday, Cassandra,” he murmured.


End file.
